


Not (Just) an Artist

by Aliada



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Artist!Mitchell, Gen, In other words it's not an overly intense story, It felt quite intense for Anders though, Slight Drama, Slight Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliada/pseuds/Aliada
Summary: Anders isn’t really interested in abstract art, or any art apart from his own, for that matter, but Mitchell’s art, or rather Mitchell himself, is another matter entirely.
Relationships: Anders Johnson/John Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	Not (Just) an Artist

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be written for this year Raffle's prompt, 'Anders hired Mitchell as a modern artist to draw some abstract art for his new office.' In fact, it was meant to be a concluding piece on my part, but, unfortunately, things don't always go as planned. Well, the good news is that it still got finished, and it's still a prompt inspired story, so majority of conditions stayed intact :D

“Abstract art?”

Anders chuckled and gave Dawn an incredulous look.

“Should we arrange poetry readings while we are at it?”

It was a very thinly veiled joke, but since Dawn couldn’t recognize it anyway, he was safe. Or was it safe-ish? Judging by Ty’s increasing interest in his secretary, and his tendency to be occasionally, but very epically, impulsive, he wouldn’t put his money on her never learning of their little secret.

Well, even if she was indeed destined to learn that, he could still have his fun while it lasted.

Dawn gave him what could be called a polite glare, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. Apparently, he was making the mistake of not taking it seriously.

“Alright. We can have the art, and the abstractions, and whatever you want. But you’re arranging this thing, right?”

Clearly pleased, Dawn made a show of being exasperated, nodded and turned around, obviously to waste no time in getting started on implementing her grand ideas.

“As usual, boss. Have a nice day. Or should I say, a nice rest?”

Anders chuckled and fell back on his chair.

“Your instincts are as always flawless. Working days are boring anyway. I have no idea what you find in them.”

She answered with a snort. At least, he wasn’t scolded, once again, for not taking his responsibilities seriously. As far as he was concerned, his responsibilities included sweet-talking the clients and securing accounts, and he was quite good at those. 

Still, Dawn was very much decent at organizing things. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind an occasional spark of novelty, either. Especially if it included a young, promising artist. Some things just never got dull, and that was what he loved most about life.

***

Mitchell was staring mindlessly into space, content to finally be free or any thoughts and emotions. The burning-out part of it wasn’t pleasurable, but at least he was no longer poked at by his own head. Some peace was nice, for a change.

George was out, and Annie was the embodiment of her usual ever-lasting constant presence, making him tea he didn’t drink and fixing him meals he only barely touched. Apparently, peace and appetite weren’t such close friends, after all. At least, there was no more hunger. He was content with that, as much as he could be, but he also knew that he needed to find something to do. He couldn’t afford depression. Depressed vampires became vicious. And all the more hungry.

Annie was tugging at her sleeve and looking increasingly agitated. Mitchell sighed and turned to her. Talking was the last thing on his mind, but any talking was preferable to Annie’s unparalleled ability to express silent, but very eloquent disapproval. He could go out, catch a bit of fresh air. Would that solve his problem, though? The answer was disconcertingly obvious.

“So, what should I do?” he asked, careful not to release a long-suffering sigh.

Annie lifted her eyebrows.

“Why do you think that I know the answer to this question?”

Uh-huh. So, now he had to deal with Annie who was both disapproving and upset. This was going to be a fine evening, he decided. Suddenly, a night out didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The only problem was that he would have to face the exact same situation tomorrow and who-knows how many days following tomorrow. Annie could be quite vengeful when she wanted to be. It never lasted long, but it was forceful enough to make him think twice about going with his natural instincts.

“Because you usually do,” he said, suddenly registering unexpected softness in his voice.

Annie gave him a look, but relented quickly enough. Being wrapped into a half-hug felt warm and steady, and yet, it did nothing to cure a nagging feeling of dissatisfaction. She seemed to realize that. That was what she did. Annie knew things. But she was also too naïve to recognize their full depth. Sometimes, he liked to deceive himself and rely on her aborted, but consoling knowledge. Sometimes, it could even be enough.

Not today, though. Today was too relentless, too demanding.

“I think you need a distraction,” Annie said.

Her eyes were serious, and promising, and he allowed himself to believe her.

“Like a job interview? I definitely enjoyed making a fool out of myself the last time.”

They laughed a bit, and he almost believed it to be a joke, but in truth it was a trap.

“Speaking of which. When was the last time you updated your CV?”

Seriousness in her voice couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

“My CV? I can just see the first line, “a vampire with an impressive set of vampire skills”.

“Don’t be like that!” Annie answered, very much expectedly.

Mitchell sighed and let his head fall into his hands.

“I’m being serious, Annie. What can I do? Mop floors? Would that be distracting enough?”

Would that, really? Last time he checked, it did nothing but provide a tiny outlet for his restlessness.

Annie gave him her patented ‘I know you’re not trying hard enough’ look. If he was uncooperative long enough, she would just abandon this topic and disappear somewhere. He wasn’t sure he wanted that, but talking was even worse of an alternative. He didn’t see how that could solve anything anyway, so what was the point? And even if it could… he doubted that he was emotionally ready for that solution.

“I’m not going to answer your questions for you, Mitchell.”

Annie sounded determined, but worry in her eyes betrayed the fragility of that determination.

She was right, though. He needed that question asked, and he needed, even more badly, to find the answer.

“I’m not getting the impression that you’re thinking very hard,” she said, following a two-minute silence. Mitchell sighed and sprang from the couch, fighting to keep his increasing irritation at bay.

“Okay. What do you propose? What is the ultimate plan?”

Annie gave him a falsely surprised look.

“Nothing.”

Mitchell shook his head.

“Come on, Annie. You always have a plan. Perhaps not the most…”

As expected, Annie could no longer keep silent after that.

“Perhaps what?”

Mitchell smiled and made a gesture of surrender.

“Just do it. Tell me. Stop fueling my curiosity.”

Annie grimaced.

“Yeah, as if you’ve ever been truly curious about my plans.”

Protesting wasn’t the wisest strategy this time. Annie held up her hand and vanished, leaving a heavy whiff of sulkiness behind. Mitchell groaned and thought that he probably deserved a sulk of his own, even if simply to balance things out a bit.

The question was still gnawing on his mind, though. Annie was good at planting things in people’s head. And, apparently, vampires’ heads as well, although he couldn’t confirm that hypothesis seeing as he was the only vampire she’d ever practiced on.

She could also be rather ruthless when she wanted to be, which meant that her plans, however reasonable or unreasonable, had a relatively high likelihood of coming to life. Generally, Mitchell didn’t mind at all, but he supposed he had the right for a certain amount of wariness when these plans were unfortunate enough to involve him. Or was it the other way around?

He could do things, of course, and he’d done things. He wouldn’t have survived this long if he hadn’t. Some of these things could probably be cautiously defined as hobbies. But years went by and his life wasn’t luxurious enough so he could stop, reflect on that consciously and develop a plan. Or make a list. No, lists were George’s idea of a good time, not his.

He’d learned to rely on his instincts. And now his instincts were strongly advising him against approaching the table, occupied, quite busily, by Annie just before their very productive chat. There was nothing extraordinary in it, or on it, but the arrangement of things was demonstrative enough to grow concerned. It was one more of Annie’s special talents – giving eloquence to otherwise voiceless objects.

Mitchell didn’t need to approach the table to know what he would mostly likely see.

His printed out CV was lying, proudly, at the very center of the table, surrounded by highlighters of all shapes and colors. He never understood why Annie needed them all. It was especially puzzling in the light of the fact that only one highlighter was used, and there was only one word it was used on.

 _An artist_. He supposed he’d always known that. How could he not? His fascination with drawing began in his, now nearly dream-like, childhood, and it remained a steady, loyal pattern of distraction and solace throughout the years. Contrary to his own expectations, he didn’t draw dark, gloomy things. Instead, his eyes kept pulling him toward repetitive, peculiarly orderly shapes of the night skies and infinites. They didn’t say much. And he didn’t want them to. Instead, they brought a measure of calm and oblivion.

He never told George or Annie about this. It wasn’t like he chose to keep it hidden. It was more about him tricking himself into not needing it anymore. He’d met and known countless faces, and yet the experience of sharing a house with two people he could call friends was such an astounding first that everything else seemed to fade into the background, even if for a short, drop-in-the-ocean kind of while.

He had no idea how Annie learned of this, but of course the CV would’ve been a massive clue. How did she know exactly what to look for, though? He probably had half a dozen of these, for different positions and with different sets of skills mentioned.

So, what was he meant to do now? Go look for a job? His so-called ‘skills’ were rusty at best and he had no desire to be social and enthusiastic. At the moment, he was neither.

A phone ring that followed didn’t make him jump, but lit his intuition with a sudden sense of foreboding. If he knew Annie, she wasn’t at all likely to stop at such a crucial moment, which meant…

‘Hello! Is it John Mitchell? You’ve offered your services at...’

Yes, he definitely shouldn’t have underestimated Annie’s power of planning.

***

Anders knew that Dawn worked fast, but he still hadn’t expected that the newest addition to his office would appear so quickly.

Usually, he preferred to form his first impressions by looking into people’s eyes. In this case, only back was available, but somehow, it didn’t spoil the experience one bit.

Anders took a few more cautious steps, careful not to alert the owner of the back… and everything that went with it. And that everything was…

The artist made a small motion with his head, as if sensing Anders’ presence and quickly turned around, a ready smile on his face. Anders half-expected to be disappointed, but he didn’t at all expect to have his breath stuck in his throat. The smile was polite, but not forced or overly apprehensive. In fact, his whole manner screamed genuinity. But it wasn’t genuinity of someone naïve or inexperienced. Instead, there was a somewhat heightened, imposing quality to it. Anders wasn’t usually the one to have a problem with words, but this time they seemed to come out before his mind registered the meaning behind them.

“There is something different about you, isn’t it? Not just an artist.”

The smile didn’t falter. Instead it fully captured his eyes and settled there.

“John Mitchell. But ‘not just an artist’ also works for me.”

This time, Anders didn’t speak until his was sure that he found an ‘on’ switch in the rational part of his mind.

“So, not just an artist, is it? Are you some special kind of artist?”

John Mitchell cocked his head to the side and gestured at the sketches occupying the table.

“Maybe. I will let you decide that.”

Anders gave them a brief look.

“To be honest with you? I don’t do art. So I’m not likely to understand much of this.”

He could of course approach the sketches and feign an interest, but, for one thing, it was Dawn’s responsibility as she was the one who hired him, but, most importantly, why waste effort discussing art when they could be discussing something far more exciting? Anders sensed something different in this man, and he wasn’t going to let him go until he realized what it was.

A sudden spark of interest in Mitchell’s eyes only confirmed his decision.

“You could just tell me whether you like it or not.”

Anders couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping.

“So, you’re an artist with a need for approval? I think I know this particular kind.”

The artists’ irritation was just as genuine as his politeness from a moment ago, and hit him just as hard, evoking an unexpected twinge of regret.

“Look, John-“ he started, not quite sure how he was going to finish, but needing, urgently, to do something.

“It’s Mitchell.”

His tone wasn’t angry, just firm, but Anders could feel the power lying dormant beneath that firmness. He didn’t understand it, not yet, but as long as it broke the routine of his life, he didn’t mind it staying for a while.

“Okay, Mitchell. The thing is, I did not hire you, so I’m not going to pretend that I’m over the moon with what you’re planning to do with this room or that I’m waiting impatiently for an hour talk about futurism, or whatever it is. What I’m interested in is _you_.”

That sounded pretty nice to his ears. Bragi inside him was mostly still. There was no task to be accomplished, not yet. But when that time approached (and Anders was certain it would), he would rise and gather all the information needed. Part of him was hungering for that moment, whereas another part was content, just for now, with a level playing field.

“Well, I’m flattered, I guess. But there is nothing unusual about me. I paint, I live, and then I paint some more.”

Anders sat at the table, leaving Mitchell standing.

“That’s a very boring answer,” he said. “And you’re anything but.”

Mitchell was very obviously trying to hide a grin.

“How do you know?”

That was a crucial question, and Anders decided to emphasize it by putting his legs on the table and assuming a demonstratively relaxed position.

John, which preferred to be called Mitchell, eyed the legs with a subtle air of amusement.

“Do you know what most people would’ve done in your place?” Anders went on. “My first guess would be go away in search of a better employer. Or get in an argument. Or shut down. There are many personality types, you know. But very few of these can bear chaos well.”

Mitchell gave him a long, measured look.

“Which ones can, then?”

Anders shrugged.

“You tell me.”

Mitchell clearly knew the answer to his question. It was in his eyes, loud and clear.

“Maybe I just have good coping techniques? And maybe you’re not as chaotic as you think you are.”

The awakening of Bragi has ever been a pleasant sensation, but now it was a very timely one as well.

“I suppose art is one of those… techniques?”

“Possibly. Creating order among chaos and all that. But I’m sure you’re not interested.”

“Tell me anyway. Tell me everything.”

He could hardly hear his own voice, hidden beneath the pounding desire to know. But it didn’t matter. Bragi was doing all the work for him anyway.

He didn’t allow the length of the pause that followed make him uncomfortable, but he could clearly feel Bragi’s displeasure at the lack of the immediate result.

Mitchell’s face went from confused to suspicious and finally settled on a narrow-eyed but mostly unreadable stare.

“Whatever you’re doing right now, it’s not going to work.”

For one second, Anders was tempted to make another attempt, but something in Mitchell’s face made him pause. Somehow, it didn’t work on him. It didn’t work on him a minute ago, and it was not going to suddenly work now. Obviously, he wasn’t simply ‘different’, he was a different species. Anders met enough of those to know the basic drill. But again, he’d only ever met gods and, however handsome this Mitchell was, Anders wasn’t at all sure he was a god.

Still, he was most certainly something different.

***

The walls of his office were now covered with strange, meaningless shapes, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Not as long as Mitchell was the one putting them there.

Dawn approved as well. In fact, the two were getting all too close for Anders’ comfort.

No, he didn’t want to go down that road. So he directed his attention at the colors instead. Deep, dark blue with subtle beige. He had to admit that it was pleasant to the eye. Still, it did nothing to calm him. Instead, he felt threatened. Intensely curious and threatened at the same time. It was an interesting combination, but a heavy fog of suspicion in Anders’ chest didn’t let him appreciate it to the fullest.

But then, Mitchell would turn to him and smile, as if inviting him to share an opinion, and Anders’ chest would be clear again, no single trace of uncertainty left.

It could be a trick. In fact, if Anders wasn’t completely certain that it was him who served as a vessel for Bragi, and, therefore, this particular position was already taken, he would have a solid reason to think that Mitchell was influencing him, manipulating him into… smiling. That sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but, then again, he wasn’t simply smiling. He was also feeling other, _stranger_ things.

“I’m not sure I can form the words now. What if we help ourselves with a coffee?”

The smile intensified, and the feeling was threatening to drown Anders completely.

“ _Our_ selves?”

Anders sent a smile of his own.

“Well, coffee can’t hurt either way, can it?”

Mitchell jumped down, revealing the half-finished, but obviously consistent pattern and, for a moment, Anders was certain that he’s never seen a more enticing sight. The wall itself also came quite close, he had to admit. But still, not as close as he would like.


End file.
